


The Water Cooler is a Neutral Zone

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bad coffee pot etiquette, Bucky Barnes is Picky About Coffee Creamer, Clint Barnes is a Human Disaster, Cubicle Farms, Enemies to friends with Benefits, M/M, No Sex, Office AU, Oops, Shenanigans, Tumblr Prompt, Wait a minute there’s sex in Chapter Two, Workplace Rivalry, crackfic, no powers, otpprompts, silliness, the author is a horrible person, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: “I’m gonna get him good this time,” Clint muttered as he shook glittering confetti over Barnes’ keyboard.Rogers looked bored from his perch on the edge of Bucky’s desk. “What’d he do this time?”“He stole all the marshmallows out of my Lucky Charms!”“Seriously, Barton?”“Rogers. Youdon’tmess with a guy’s Lucky Charms. They’resacred, for fuck’s sake. You should know this.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine your OTP as sworn enemies in a workplace for whatever reason you choose. They have passive-aggressive sticky note arguments, roll around in squeaky office chairs, fire spitballs, arrive early to take the last parking spot, etc. just to irritate each other. Person A has to deal with a lot of Person B’s shit, but nothing makes them angrier than when B steals random little necessities from A. Pencils, pens, paper, scissors, you name it.
> 
> Now imagine A confronting B at their desk after B steals a stapler (for the third time this week, A might add). In the midst of releasing their bottled-up rage, A gets caught between saying “you wanna fight” and “fuck you”, and screams “YOU WANNA FUCK” in the presence of a dozen coworkers.
> 
> (Bonus: B looks A directly in the eyes and says “I had been WAITING for you to ASK, twat”)

_Barton, I know it’s you. Quit drinking my creamer._

Clint snorted at the tiny sticky note taped to the bottle of International Delight Hazelnut. As Steve approached from the break room’s rear entrance, he pointed to it with a shrug and Sunday-best “Is he fucking kidding me?” squint. 

“Did you see this?”

“See what?”

“Barnes. He left me this. He’s actually calling me out.”

“What did you do this time, Barton?”

“Pssssht… Nothin’, man. So I might have drank some of his coffee creamer.”

“He hates that,” Steve pointed out. “Might wanna come to an agreement that you’ll chip in. Or take turns buying it.”

“Seriously? It’s creamer. _Fake milk._ There’s more coconut oil and corn syrup in here than anything else, and he wants to get precious about it.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Maybe it wasn’t even me.” Clint suggested this as he popped open the cap and poured a generous spout of creamer into his commuter cup. “You didn’t see anything, Rogers.”

“See what?” Steve shrugged and headed for the coffee pot, filling his Disney souvenir mug that Sam brought him home as a joke when he went to Epcot the spring before. Tinkerbell stared out at Clint from it in a bathrobe and curlers; the side of it read “Not a Morning Person,” which was a patent lie. Rogers was always chipper, and it took a lot to faze him. It was a big mug, too, but Steve only filled it halfway, leaving behind a full cup of brew in the pot, not wanting to be the dick in the office who barely left behind a couple of sips, left the burner turned on, and let it char into sludge that stunk up the rest of the office. Clint Barton had no such qualm; he would have just filled his cup, drank it down enough to fit in the rest of the coffee and left behind the empty pot for the next poor schmuck to make a fresh one. It still beat being a Last Gulp McGee.

At least Rogers wouldn’t be a tattletale, even though Barnes was his best friend, and Steve had even warned Clint, “Buck can take care of himself. He’s a grownup.” Then, he amended that claim: “Most of the time.” It was like a warning shot that Clint cheerfully ignored, just like he would any other well-meaning advice. Like, when Natasha warned him away from the Atomic Wings when they were watching the Giants game. He ate the entire basket out of spite, earning her cocked eyebrow and smirk when he bolted up from the table mere minutes later, broken out in a cold sweat and stomach on fire. The blisters on the roof of his mouth had finally healed, too, so. 

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Nat.

“Watch your back, Barton.”

“I ain’t afraid of ‘im, Rogers.”

Steve huffed a laugh at him from over the brim of his cup as he drank his black brew. Clint huffed back and put the bottle of creamer back in the fridge. Way behind every other lunch pack on the top shelf. With the words “Barton Who?” scrawled on the note with the purple ink pen that Clint had tucked in his shirt pocket for just such an occasion.

Barnes needed to lighten up.

*

 

When Clint got back to his desk, his mouse was missing. There was a beanie baby cat sitting on his mousepad in its place. “What the…? Okay.” Clint sputtered curses as he picked up the beanie cat and read the newest sticky note.

 _Oops. Kitty got hungry. Gobbled up your mouse. Squeak, squeak._ There was a tiny mouse scrawled beneath the words, written in Barnes’ copperplate script, lying on its back with its tongue sticking out and little x’s for eyes.

“You wanna play it that way, Barnes? Okay. Let’s _play._ ”

Sam was half a step ahead of them both. He wandered up behind Clint and thunked the errant mouse back on Clint’s desk. “C’mon, now. It’s too early in the morning for this shit, Barton.”

“He started it!”

“Uh-huh.”

When Sam returned to his cubicle, he felt something light pap him upside the back of the head before he could sip from his cup. Bucky hovered over him, looking put out and brandishing a manila folder. “What’s the deal? You’re not supposed to help him.”

“You want that man to be any less productive than he already is?”

“Hey. You’re aiding and abetting. I’ll remember this if I get you for Secret Santa this year, Sam. I’m getting you all of the gag gifts.”

Sam grinned. “Looking forward to it, Barnes.”

Bucky made “I’m watching you” signals with his fingers and stalked off. Sam sighed raggedly. It was gonna be a long damned day at the office.

Still, though. They kept Sam entertained, on the best of days. Clint and Bucky were hired the same week by the temp agency when they needed processors, herded into the same training class. Barnes was biding his time until he could snag an IT job from the internal postings. Clint was just there for the health insurance after the probationary period was over and worked just enough hours every month to make rent with his two roommates. Clint always managed to go three minutes over his half-hour lunch. Barnes’ clockings were precise, and his timecard was impeccable. Clint was late every day while he programmed his dog’s favorite shows on his Netflix queue before he left for the office. 

Sam didn’t even remember when all the hair-pulling began between those two. Maybe it was the time that Barnes left Clint hanging in the men’s stall without handing him any paper when it turned out his roll was out. Or, it could’ve been the time that Clint took the last corner piece of the birthday cake with all the frosting after Bucky called dibs before he helped Sharon pass them out in the breakroom on Steve’s birthday. It never took much. 

*

 

The last parking space just to the right of the block of disabled parking spots was highly coveted. Clint growled under his breath when he saw Bucky’s black hybrid car parked there, back wheel just over the line. “Double-parked, too? Sonofabitch!” He slapped the steering wheel and circled the lot, trying to find a space that was at least near one of those crappy, skinny little trees so he would at least have some shade. 

*

 

Bucky felt something flutter against his scalp, barely perceptible at first. He ignored it as he continued to work on his claim batch, trying to make production before lunch. His Spotify playlist pumped through his earbuds, making him zone out a little as he clicked through each field. By about the sixth flutter, he reached up and swatted at the top of his head. Several little bits of crumpled paper landed on his lap. “The hell…?”

He looked up and saw another tiny projectile land on the floor, flying from over the side of the cubicle wall. Bucky jerked his earbuds out and stood up quickly, glaring over the side. He saw Sam looking innocent at his keyboard.

“Wasn’t me,” he told him before Bucky could even accuse him, but Bucky already saw Barton’s shoe sticking out from the edge of the cubicle’s doorway.

“I see you, Barton, you freakin’ coward,” Bucky accused. Clint edged his way out, smirking and unapologetic. Bucky’s nostrils flared.

“What? Just givin’ you a little flower crown. You look gorgeous, buddy.”

Sam bit his lip, but he feared that look in Barnes’ eye.

Bucky doubled back to his desk and found his two-hole punch. He tugged off the bottom receptacle, already full of paper punchings, and he rounded the doorway before Clint could calculate the risk. “Happy New Year, Barton!” he told him as he ran at him and showered him with the confetti.

“Shit!” From across the room, Steve, Bruce and Tony snickered.

“Done lost their damn minds,” Sam heard Rhoades mutter from the copier. Clint spat bits of paper out of his mouth. A few pieces of it clung to his sandy blond brows.

“Feel better now?”

“Top notch.” Bucky held up his hands and saluted Clint with the little receptacle. 

“This is getting out of hand,” Bruce told Steve.

Steve just nodded and shrugged. 

*

 

The whoopee cushion was inspired, Bucky admitted to himself, when he found himself pulling its depleted pink sleeve out from the last empty chair in the office meeting. Clint winked at him and smiled with full dimples. 

*

 

They both received a copy of the warning letter from HR that they needed to cool it. Bucky and Clint eyed each other cautiously from opposite sides of the break room.

“You gonna behave?” Clint challenged as he waved his copy.

“Dunno. That’s up to you, pal.”

“Oh. It’s up to _me?_ ”

Clint gave him a shrug of helplessness. “Hey. I’ve got no beef with you, Buck. For real.”

“No beef, huh?”

 

Steve crept into Bucky’s cubicle a little later. “Hey. Buck. C’mon. You two need to cool it. Don’t get into trouble over this. It’s not worth it.”

Bucky’s expression was unwavering. “He’s the one who won’t settle down.”

“Sure. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Barnes.”

Bucky raised one dark brow, and his lips twitched. Steve wouldn’t admit that this particular look of his made him a little weak in the knees. Bucky Barnes was easy on the eyes, but Steve wasn’t in the habit of making a fool of himself. Asking a coworker out when the cubicles had thin walls, knowing how people talked… That wasn’t Steve’s cup of tea. (Or black coffee.)

“Just take it easy.”

“I’m taking it easy, Steve.”

“O. Kay.”

 

Clint thumbed through a batch of paper claims, stamping them and getting them ready to scan. Sam poked him to get his attention.

“Those letters from HR are no joke, man. You’re not a temp anymore, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire your ass. Don’t end up getting put out on the front steps with your stuff in a box.”

“What? What’s the big deal? It’s not like I don’t do real work around here. Barnes and I are just messin’ around.”

“Well, maybe tone it down. Sheesh. It’s like watching kids pulling each other’s pigtails on the playground. Do you ‘like him, like him,’ Barton?”

“Psssssht… get outta town, Wilson.”

 

Clint’s cheeks warmed slightly at Sam’s theory.

“Hm.” Sam threw up his hands and wandered off. Clint went back to stamping his claims, glad that Wilson had dropped the subject.

 

*

The end of the work day brought the daily sprint to the time clock. Tony ran his card through the badge reader while making a little exploding noise with his mouth. 

“You still coming over for our ‘Shameless’ marathon, right?” Bruce asked.

“I’m bringing the Trader Joe’s salsa and Blue Moon Ale,” Tony reminded him. “You’re making those shrimp tacos you promised me, right?”

“Sure am,” Bruce confirmed.

“Hey. Where’s Barton?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Haven’t seen him clock out yet,” Rhoades told him.

“He’s usually the first one out,” Tony added.

Steve’s brows drew together.

“Check on him,” Rhodes suggested.

“I’m on it.” Steve badged out and walked back out to the processing floor. “Barton?” he called out softly. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s ditch this popsicle stand.”

He called for him again. “Clint?”

He wasn’t at his desk. It was uncharacteristically immaculate and smelled like bleach wipes. He’d even taken his dirty coffee cup to the break room to wash instead of leaving it with a layer of sludge in the bottom for the next morning. “Huh.” 

“‘M in here, Rogers,” Clint called back.

That was coming from Bucky’s cube. That gave Steve pause.

Clint didn’t disappoint him.

“I’m gonna get him good this time,” Clint muttered as he shook glittering confetti over Barnes’ keyboard.

“Clint. What. The. Heck.”

Steve didn’t know when Clint found the time to sneak off to Dollar Tree and buy all of the Lisa Frank stickers, confetti, metallic streamers and My Little Pony and Troll dolls, but Bucky’s entire work cube was a nightmare of glitter and rainbows. Just looking at it made Steve itch.

Rogers looked bored from his perch on the edge of Bucky’s desk as he leaned on it. “What’d he do this time?”

“He stole all the marshmallows out of my Lucky Charms!”

“Seriously, Barton?”

“Rogers. You _don’t_ mess with a guy’s Lucky Charms. They’re _sacred_ , for fuck’s sake. You should know this.”

“Clint. It’s CEREAL.”

“He knew what he was doing, Steve-O. He brought this down on his own head.”

“ _Clint_. Oh, my God. Buddy. Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“I know he’s your friend. I know maybe you even have a little crushy-poo on him. Dimples like those, the shoulders? The smolder? The perfect hair? I get it, Rogers. I do. But… he knew what he was doing. Lucky Charms without the marshmallows is a great, big bowl of sadness.”

“Smolder?” Steve’s face was taking a journey.

“He has it. That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna punch him in the face, but he has it. Hand me that sheet of stickers. His monitor needs a few more.”

“I can’t be a party to this.”

“Spoilsport. All the more for me.”

“Don’t stay too late, okay?”

“Already signed out.”

“Okay. Okay.”

_Okay._

Steve wondered if this was the thing that would push Bucky over the edge.

 

*

And, it wasn’t. Not really. 

Bucky’s voice sounded eerily calm. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve glanced up from his claim audit request that he was typing up to email to the company’s scenario engine team.

Bucky scraped the hair from his face where it was falling into his eyes. “Why does my cube look like a preschool attacked it?”

“You know why.”

Bucky threw up his hands and let them slap his thighs on the way down. He shook his head.

“The Minions puffy stickers were a nice touch. Gotta admit it, Buck.”

“I don’t have to admit _shit_.”

“Why do you two even have to do this?” 

Bucky was fuming.

“Hey. There’s gotta be a reason for it. Do you just want his attention?”

“What? _No._.”

“Sure seems like it.” Steve popped a cinnamon Goldfish cracker into his mouth from an open pouch, munching it while he watched his friend search for excuses.

“He’s a wingnut, Rogers. C’mon. I’d be doing this place a favor if I could get him fired.”

“That’d be a shit thing to do, though.”

“Pffffft… you’re kidding, right? Hey, you know where he went to school?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Berkeley.”

Steve raised his brows. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Sports scholarships. Double majored in education and kinesiology. What’s a guy with that kind of background doing wasting his talents here?”

“Same thing you are, I guess. Trying to make rent?”

“There are people who actually want to be here. Barton’s got no focus. This is the wrong place for him. There’s gotta be better places for him to use up all that energy.” Bucky’s tone was insistent and annoyed. Steve’s lips twisted.

“Uh-huh. Okay.”

“There’s fucking glitter all over my desk,” Bucky grumbled. “Guy must have bought a _gallon_ of it. Looks like a unicorn barfed everywhere.”

Steve choked on his cracker.

*

 

Clint couldn’t find his purple pens. Any of them. 

He fished through his pen cup, finding only a couple of cheap black Bics and a blue gel pen that he’d stolen from Sam the week before and never returned. He checked his desk drawer. No go. Clint exhaled loudly through his nose. “Okay. Not okay.”

He knew he didn’t have them when he went to the copier. Or to the mail room. Or the break room. He’d signed Bruce’s birthday card that they’d passed around in the folder with Sam’s pen, not using his lucky ink. “Fuck,” Clint muttered.

“Whatsamatter, Barton?” That was Sam from the other side of the wall.

“Need my pen.”

“Which pen?”

“My purple one. Any of my purple ones. They walked away from my desk. I had three of ‘em.”

“Gremlins,” Sam suggested less than helpfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Let me know if you run across them, okay?”

“Fair enough.”

He sounded less than concerned. Clint felt irritation rising up into his throat and tightening his scalp. _Fuck._ Where were his pens?

“Have you seen my purple gel pens? My good ones?” 

“Sure haven’t,” Quill assured him as he munched a handful of honey roasted peanuts and flipped through the offerings on his old iPod.

“Me either, sir.” Parker was fresh out of high school and the temp agency, trying to earn enough to help out his aunt before the next semester started and he had to buy text books.

“Quit callin’ me that,” Clint grumbled.

“Might want to check the conference room?” Parker suggested as Clint stalked off. “It eats pens.”

“Dry erase markers, maybe,” Quill agreed. “All of the ones in the building end up there.”

Clint felt out of sorts for the rest of the afternoon. Everything irritated him, from the squeaky wheel on his chair to the way his coffee cup bled a condensed ring that leaked through his stack of claims, meaning it would scan that way and get him dinged on his quality score. He knocked his hole puncher off the desk and it opened as it landed, showering his floor again with punchings. Clint growled. Day just kept getting better.

“You okay, Barton?” Steve asked.

“Want my pens.” Clint’s voice was curt and clipped.

Steve tiptoed off, not wanting to upset the apple cart.

By the time Clint was ready to clock out, he was about ready to lose his shit. Who was the pen-napper? Not just one, but all three? No one else used purple ink. That was _his_ color. His signature, lucky color. Bobbi gave him those for his birthday, one of the only gifts from her that he’d truly enjoyed, and now, they’d vanished.

Rhodes peeked around the edge of his cubicle. “Barton?”

“Yeah?”

“C’mere a sec.”

“Let me sign off.”

“That’s fine, man.”

Clint logged off and followed him toward the break room.

“Might wanna get your tupperware. The cleaning staff is going to empty the fridge tonight.”

“I never pack.”

“Check it anyway.”

Clint huffed. “Okay.” He headed into the breakroom, and he noticed that Rhoades didn’t follow him. The room was empty except for Barnes, who had ducked into the fridge to remove his creamer bottle. Guy had taken to bringing it home with him every night, an extreme step if Clint had any thoughts on the mat-

Hey.

_Hey._

Barnes scruffy man-bun featured some accessories that Clint hadn’t noticed earlier that morning. Speared through it like chopsticks were three suspiciously familiar.

Purple.

Gel.

Pens.

“What the everlovin’ FUCK, Barnes.”

Bucky froze, pausing in the act of setting the bottle down on the table, and he turned to face Barton down.

He was smirking. Clint wanted to punch him right in that sweet little cleft he had in his chin, the hot fucker.

“Like my hair?” he purred.

Clint opened his mouth, then shut it. 

*

 

Minutes later, the employees’ attention was yanked over to the two men barreling out through the back exit. The slightly shorter brunette was caught in the blond’s headlock, and they were yelling and struggling, making a couple of cars honk at them when they stumbled into their path as they pulled out of their spaces. 

“Please tell me that’s not happening right now,” Bruce pleaded. He looked defeated as he watched his coworkers make a scene. “That’s… that’s not constructive. That’s a horrible way to process your emotions.”

“My money’s on Barnes,” Tony countered.

“I’ll take that bet,” Quill told him.

“I think Barnes has the weight advantage, though,” Parker pointed out.

“No. No. Barton has a longer reach,” Quill said. 

They were wrestling and struggling. Bucky was trying ineffectually to jam his elbows into Clint’s ribs, completely red-faced. Clint wouldn’t let him out of the headlock. Bucky’s ponytail was a hopeless wreck.

Bucky was still clutching the bottle of coffee creamer while Clint fought to yank the pens out of his hair. Steve hurried forward to break them up, looking completely embarrassed for both of them. He held Bucky back, while Sam pushed himself in front of Clint.

“Take it easy, man. Just chill, okay? There’s no need for this! Don’t show your ass in front of the whole office, Barton!”

“He took ‘em. He took my fucking pens.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky spat as he tried to right his hair. He yanked out the pens and threw them at Clint’s feet. 

“Fuck me? Huh? I’ll fight you. You’ve been asking for it!”

“Bullshit! _You’ve_ been asking for it!”

“Nobody’s asking for it! Just calm down, Bucky!”

“Look who’s telling me to calm down, Rogers. Remember that night at karaoke, when you tried to take that douchebag outside for harassing that girl?”

“That was different!”

“The hell it was!”

“Aw, that night was awesome!” Quill insisted. “Barnes stepped in to break it up, and he ended up whooping that guy’s ass. They both ended up getting thrown out of the bar.”

“You’re gonna fight me over some pens?” Bucky called out.

“No.” Clint pushed himself out from behind Sam and rushed Bucky, grabbing the creamer bottle out of his hand. He snapped it open and guzzled about a third of it before Steve and Sam’s horrified eyes. He threw it aside and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Bucky’s eyes bulged.

“Are you CRAZY?!”

“Mmmmm. Good stuff. That was some GOOD creamer, Barnes.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wanna fight me over it? Huh? How about now? I’ll fight you.”

“Fight you? Fuck you, Barton!”

“Fuck me? Fuck YOU!”

“Fuck me? You wanna-” Bucky paused. His jaw was working, face flushed, and Steve knew that to be the precise moment that his best friend was about to lose face. “YOU WANNA FUCK?”

“Oh, shit…” That was Tony, eyes round.

“That. That didn’t go as planned,” Bruce murmured. Both Peters were gaping, staring at each other and trading elbow jabs.

It took Bucky and Clint a moment to let the words settle between them and to get caught up.

Clint clapped the creamer bottle shut and gave an emphatic nod. “I’ve been _waiting for you to ask_ , you unforgivable _twat._ ”

Clint’s nostrils flared. Bucky tugged on his hair, and his face did The Thing again.

“My place is closer,” he grated out, voice rough.

“Good.”

“Follow me out before we hit the worst of the traffic on the freeway.”

Clint shoved the bottle into Bucky’s hands and hurried to his car, missing Bucky’s look of satisfaction.

Their friends - and the entire lot - watched them both drive off, Clint following Bucky’s hybrid closely in his battered purple Chevy.

“What just happened?” Bruce asked.

“It’s okay, buddy. You don’t have to make that leap,” Tony told him. “That’s asking too much of yourself.”


	2. No Fraternizing in the Workplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. Clint and Bucky. Don’t. Exactly hate each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut suggested by the ending of the previous installment. Because _smut_. It kinda wrote itself.
> 
>  
> 
> If you read this as a "Gen" fic at first, feel free to pretend this chapter doesn't exist.

Clint almost wondered if Barnes had changed his mind. Following him home was a challenge. Guy waited til the last possible second to signal before he changed lanes, and he picked the busiest streets in town instead of getting on the freeway. Clint almost wished he’d gotten his number before they’d left the parking lot, but, y’know. Too many people watching. Too many lips flapping.

Yeah. So. Ditching that popsicle stand took priority over something as trivial as a phone number. Clint almost missed following Bucky through the intersection because of a slow red light and a pickup truck that cut him off. He still managed to catch up to him as they headed toward the gated apartment complexes that Clint always drove past on his way to work, knowing they were out of his price range unless he wanted at least five roommates and to live on ramen. And, y’know. Clint _liked_ ramen, for the most part, but he’d rather live in his own shitty apartment with his dog and not have to worry about a roomie - or three - nagging him that he was keeping it too shitty, or that he drank all the milk, or that his showers were too long, yadda yadda yadda and all that jazz.

Clint Barton was broke as a joke. But he had his own space, paid his own bills, and was a man with freedom, a dog, premium cable and a Netflix password that he didn’t have to share. Life by his definition was pretty good.

He saw Barnes pull into the lot after entering his code, and Clint managed to catch him just as the gate slid shut. Clint sat idling by the gate for a minute, before it slid open again, relieving his initial assumption that Barnes would leave him hanging just to fuck with him. When he drove inside, he caught Bucky standing on the manicured grass, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.

“You made it.”

 

“Where do you want me to park?”

“Any uncovered space you can find. Might try the ones by the laundry room.” He nodded to the next block of apartments in the tidy complex. Clint followed the signs with his eyes, nodded at him, and took his first long look at Barnes that he’d been able to enjoy all day. No more glancing away quickly like a chump, or like he wasn’t checking out his ass. Bucky’s tongue found its way into his cheek. He returned Clint’s stare.

“Just gonna sit out here all day?”

“Uh-uh. I’m visiting an acquaintance.” Clint enjoyed his low chuckle and the way his eyes followed him as he drove off to find a parking spot. He managed to get the last one by the laundry room and tiny onsite gym room, pulling into it faster than necessary. The middle-aged woman in espadrilles, one of those cotton dresses people wore when they weren’t ready to commit to wearing more than pajamas out of the house, and glasses hanging from a chain around her neck glared at his parking job, tsking, but Clint gave her a charming smile.

“Need any help with that?” He nodded at her laundry basket, balanced on her hip.

“No. But I sure would love to make it home to my apartment without getting run over.”

“I think you’ll make it.”

He didn’t stick around for her rejoinder, missing her muttered “Asshole” before she click-thumped away in her frumpy shoes. Clint whistled as he retraced his steps toward the gate, catching sight of Bucky heading for an upstairs unit only boasted a few of the parking lot. “Hey. Wait up!”

Bucky gave him that smirk again, pausing at the top of the concrete stairs as Clint jogged to catch up. He took them two at a time until he met Bucky at the door, where he was deftly pushing the key into the lock. 

“Make yourself at home.”

“You don’t wanna tell me that. I will. Your place is nicer than mine. I’ll camp out here and order pizza and take up space on your couch, Barnes, swear to God.” 

Bucky huffed as he stepped aside to let Clint walk past him into the immaculate two-bedroom unit.

“You live alone?”

“Not on my salary.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“He’s out of town.”

“He is, huh?”

He heard the low clicks of the door and the lock, followed by the slide of the dead bolt, and Clint’s stomach jumped with excitement. _Fuck._ This was happening. The apartment was pleasantly cool, making him realize how stuffy his car was ever since the A/C went out. 

Everything was in its place. No empty food containers on the coffee table or dirty clothes draped over the couch. Barnes even had the nerve to have his mail in a letter stacker on the kitchen counter, which gleamed from immaculate attention. 

Clint already felt intimidated enough by the fact that Barnes said _yes_. “Are you one of those people who follows those ‘Life Hacks’ on the Internet? The ones that tell you all the simple things you’re fucking up before they show you a way that you’ll never remember how to duplicate the next time you need to know how?”

“The one for cutting a watermelon was more work than it was worth,” Bucky admitted.

“Right? I mean-”

Before Clint could go full-ramble, he felt Bucky close in on him from behind, and his warm grip settle over his shoulder, stopping him before he could wander any further into the living room. He spun Clint around, cupped Clint’s nape and dragged him down for a kiss that rang his bells.

_Okay. That answers that._

They were doing this. Barnes had made up his mind and was more direct than Clint had figured he’d be about filling him in on his plans for the night. No small talk. No unpacking what happened in the parking lot. Just Barnes and that soft mouth nipping at him, leaning that hard, compact body against Clint and letting out a pleased, breathy little groan when Clint’s hands crept around his waist. Clint’s knees buckled, and he tipped backwards, smothering a curse when his head thunked back against the wall, but he took Bucky with him. They weren’t quite matched in height; it was the first time he’d noticed that he topped Barnes by at least four or more inches, and he was leaning down to better explore that mouth that wasn’t sassing him for a change. Clint’s knee rose up of its own volition, parting Barnes’ thighs; he was practically riding it, keeping Clint pinned up against the wall while he tugged deftly at his shirt buttons. Clint felt his shirt tails sliding out from his waistband - God, he hated wearing his shirt tucked in, anyway, it was a relief to feel that cool air fanning against his skin and to be free of that too snug, “bunched up” sensation - while Bucky sucked on his bottom lip, grazing it with his teeth.

“Fuck,” Clint hissed.

“That’s the idea, Barton.”

“How long?” Clint croaked. 

“You got anywhere you need to be?”

“No, that’s… no, I don’t. I mean… how long? How long have you…?” Clint made a futile little gesture between them that pleaded for an explanation that would make any of this make sense. He pushed Bucky had just long enough to notice that his eyes were dilated. Those gorgeous blue-gray eyes were a little dazed, pupils blown. His lashes were long and thick, almost too pretty. Everything about Bucky was almost too pretty. Too perfect. 

Clint needed to mess him up. And he needed to take his sweet time doing it.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to Clint’s lips, which Clint licked as an impulse. They felt puffy from all that attention. And lonely. “I thought about it for a long time. I _wanted_ it today.”

“How bad did you want it? How bad do you want it _now_?”

“How bad do you think?” Clint’s palms were still splayed against Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s ran up Clint’s chest, fingers grazing the peak of his nipple through the thin undershirt. Clint’s hips jerked in response.

“I’ve been reading this shit all wrong. I thought you hated my guts.”

“Don’t get too sure of yourself yet. We don’t have to like each other to fuck, Barton. We can work on the specifics later.”

“Quit taking my pens.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, but Clint grasped his hips, bring his thigh up for him to grind against in earnest. That earned him a little gasp, and Bucky leaned up to claim Clint’s mouth again.

“I’ll replace your creamer,” Clint promised on a low husk, “But leave my favorite pens. Okay? Those are special. They were a present.”

“Fair enough.”

Clint stopped resisting him, and they made short work of each other’s clothes, trailing them all the way back to the bedroom in a staggering scuffle. Clint reached up and tugged Barnes’ hair free of the annoying hair tie and clutched at it, tangling his fingers in it like he’d wanted to do since they fucking _met_. That released a faint whiff of his shampoo, herbal and intoxicating to Clint’s senses. Bucky stumbled back into the bed, falling back when his pants dropped from his hips. He smothered a laugh when he lost his balance and toppled. Clint grinned at him and yanked the pants the rest of the way off, baring those long, tempting legs and his narrow hips to his hungry gaze. Bucky stared up at him in challenge and straightened up long enough to work open Clint’s belt buckle and zipper. He let them drop and leaned in, feathering kisses over his taut belly and tracing his sandy happy trail to the edge of his briefs. Clint clutched at Bucky’s hair again as he felt himself harden from a “semi” to “raging boner” in seconds.

“Watch the teeth,” Clint warned as they grazed him, catching the edge of the elastic. He needn’t have worried; Clint didn’t know whether to be intimidated that Barnes had done this before, or impressed. Bucky tugged his underwear down, just far enough to free his cock. Clint’s balls dangled heavy and swollen over the waistband while his cock twitched, looking for attention. Bucky breathed over it and let his lips just graze the plump, rosy head. The sight of those pretty pink lips just barely nibbling at him, opening up to wetly kiss at Clint’s flesh made a strained whine push its way up from his throat. Bucky stared up at him through his lashes, opened up and drew him inside in one hot, smooth suck.

Clint’s breath punched its way out of his chest.

“I’ll never leave glitter all over your desk again,” Clint groaned. “Oh, God… I won’t fuck around with you anymore at work. I promise. Unless you _like_ the glitter. If you do, I’ll bring you as much as you want.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled right before he dipped his head. Clint’s hips jerked. He tugged on Bucky’s soft hair and just let himself feel his wet, satiny heat wrapped around him and the slide of his hands over Clint’s body as they lazily explored his hips, waist, nipples and thighs. He bobbed his head over Clint’s aching cock, breathing growing shallower and uneven.

“I’ll bring you anything you want, sweetheart. You want Starbucks? I’m buyin’.”

That sounded like laughter, but it was hard to tell. 

Clint focused himself on Bucky, but his eyes still wandered around the tidy, simply decorated bedroom. Barnes’ stuff looked like it came from TJ Maxx or Target. Lots of olive green and beige. Nothing too over the top. But something white and pastel caught Clint’s eye, over on the corner of the dresser.

“Dude. You kept one?”

“Hmmph?”

“You honest to God kept one of them?”

The My Little Pony Pegasus figure grinned back at Clint from the edge of the bureau, its mint green vinyl, white wings and lavender mane clashing with its surroundings.

“Seriously, Barnes?!”

“Mmmmph,” Bucky told him, shrugging as he swirled Clint’s head in his mouth, as though he questioned Clint’s priorities. Clint realigned them at the sensation of being pulled more deeply into his mouth. 

“I’ll shut up now?”

“Mm-hmmm.”

“Be that way. Sheesh… oh, God, do that again.”

Bucky’s fingers scraped the briefs the rest of the way down Clint’s thighs, and Clint stepped out of them before they could trip him. Bucky ringed him gently in his fist and continued to take Clint apart. Clint held onto Bucky’s shoulders for balance, because he was making him weak in the knees again. He drank in the sight of Bucky’s skin, smooth, lightly tanned and unblemished. There were glints of sandy gold in his dark hair, which felt so satisfying to stroke and pull. Bucky hummed again, telegraphing how much he was enjoying Clint’s thickness and weight in his mouth, lapping up his faintly salty taste. 

Clint abandoned conversation. That didn’t mean he made any attempt to stop the garbled curses tumbling out of his mouth. He was just done asking stupid-ass questions.

*

Bucky almost took Clint over the edge after he let himself sink down to the mattress. He just sat and watched Bucky work on him, with those pretty lips stretched open wide, and it took all Clint had not to let Bucky push him those last few strokes. “No,” Clint croaked. “Don’t. M’sorry. I want this, but. Don’t. Please?”

Bucky paused and gently pulled off, eyes gleaming. A string of spit draped from his lip to Clint’s throbbing, swollen dick, and Clint shuddered at the sight.

“I won’t have anything left. I’ll bust one and then I’ll be out like a light.” Clint whimpered when Bucky leaned down and gave the head a wet, teasing kiss. He cradled his cheek in his palm, scraping that fall of soft hair back. “You haven’t even told me how you wanna do this.”

“You. Do me.”

“Got supplies? I hope?”

In lieu of a reply, Bucky rose to his feet, giving Clint a brief peck. “One second,” he promised before he bounded off. Clint took the sight of that tight butt shrink-wrapped in dark briefs with him.

Clint’s dick twitched. “Aw, dick, no,” he murmured to it as it grew chilled once deprived of Bucky’s lush heat and care. But he heard the click of the medicine cabinet and the flap of a box, and Bucky returned as quickly as promised, handing Clint the Astroglide bottle and the Trojan packet.

“You’re always so goddamned organized.”

“Are you complaining about that how?”

“Hell, no. _Fuck_ , no. C’mere. Let me catch you up to speed.” Clint reaches for him, sliding his hot palm down Bucky’s waist to his hips and kissing a path down his chest. Bucky smirked as he let Clint enjoy him, letting his own hands stay at his sides while Clint yanked down his briefs, nothing sexy about the act except his desperation. Clint speared the tip of his tongue into the sweet, perfect divot of Bucky’s navel and swirled it. He huffed a laugh when he felt Bucky clutch at _his_ hair, this time. Okay. Someone was ticklish.

And incredibly sexy and responsive. Clint nosed at him, nipping along the edge of his groin. “Fuck, you’re hot, Barnes.” Bucky’s body quivered when Clint let the tip of his dick gently thump against his lips. He teased it, breathing over it and giving it playful licks. It was just as nice as the rest of his body, standing tall, proud and cut, framed by its nest of dark, crisp hair. When Clint glanced up at Bucky, while his mouth was busy, he caught the look Bucky was giving him. Eyes drowsy and dilated, skin flushed. Lips puffy and deep rose, slack with wonder.

Clint groaned at the taste of him, and Bucky’s fingers convulsed, tugging on Clint’s short locks when Clint engulfed him. The vibrations of his voice thrummed through his flesh, intensifying the sensations, and Bucky mewled low in his throat when Clint’s blunt fingertip brushed over his entrance.

Clint was getting his revenge for taking his pens. Bucky was sure of it. He would take him in, nice and deep, then retreat, holding back and offering Bucky the shortest, feathering strokes of his tongue, and he gave Bucky’s snug hole barely enough pressure to stimulate it, but enough to make him crave more.

“C’mon, Barton…”

Those blue eyes held no pity, but Bucky saw a glint of humor there, just for him. Completely at his expense. Bucky longed to kill him, but instead, he gave his hips a sharp little thrust, and Clint’s eyes challenged him instead. _Think I can’t handle it, cowboy?_ Clint hollowed out his cheeks and sucked him down. It was a silent invitation to fuck his face.

_Accepted._

Bucky pushed himself into the slick heat of Clint’s mouth, letting all rational thought and the stresses of the day dissolve. Bucky’s eyes drifted shut, and the minutes stretched on as he just let himself feel. He listened to the low sounds of Clint’s lapping tongue and his grunts of pleasure - he was really going for it, giving back as good as he got - and heard the click of the bottle’s cap being flipped up, and the faint squirt of liquid. Bucky hissed at the sensation of a cool, slippery fingertip breaching him, pushing through that tight ring of muscle.

Clint pulled off of him when he felt Bucky tighten around his finger. “Easy. Take it easy, Barnes.”

“Don’t stop. It was just getting good.” Bucky squeezed again, and Clint shook his head. His crooked smile was disarming and knowing.

“Relax. Let me in. I know how good you’re gonna feel in a minute. And I can’t wait, but I need to loosen you up.”

“Do you?”

Fuck, his voice sounded husky and rich, like hot chocolate with a dash of Bailey’s.

“Jesus, Barnes…”

“Hurry up.”

Clint shook his head, pressing his finger deeper, enjoying the slight resistance. Bucky tensed and made a little choked noise. “You sure?” He retreated, the slid in again, nice and smooth, giving his finger a little twist.

_”Clint.”_

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 

Clint only pretended he didn’t know what he was doing, at work. Kept people’s expectations low and kept his inbox a little less crammed. Call him a train wreck if you want. But Clint had skills and a razor sharp wit. He noticed details that other folks missed while they were paying lip service and following all the rules.

“You’re used to doin’ all the work, arentcha, Barnes? Hm?”

Bucky licked his lips and nodded. Clint gave the head of his cock another deep, sweet suck, lingering over it. 

“Not today.”

Clint used his mouth and his fingers to ready him, taking his sweet, goddamned time. His own erection twitched with anticipation, leaking a little from want. Barnes didn’t hold back. His responses were genuine, and he was direct when Clint did something he liked. Clint should have expected as much from a guy who wrote his Post-It’s in Sharpie pen. By the time Clint’s fingers slid inside Bucky nice and easy, Bucky was squirming and pleading with him to get on with it.

“Damn it, Barton…”

“C’mere. Can’t believe you’re even still standing, sweetheart.”

Bucky huffed as Clint snared him in his arms and rolled him onto his back.

“You might not like me, but I’m about to make you feel really good.”

“Let’s decide that after you’re inside me,” Bucky suggested.

“Yeah? That’ll make up your mind?” Clint’s question feathered over Bucky’s lips. Bucky hummed in agreement. He reached for Clint, pumping him, spreading his thighs in invitation while they kissed. Clint watched rapt as Bucky tore open the condom wrapper with his perfect white teeth. He suited Clint up with one smooth roll of his fist, forcing a needy whine from Clint’s chest. “Let’s see if this helps my odds.” He lined himself up, wrapping Bucky’s gorgeous legs around his waist and pushing himself inside his snug heat. Clint’s breath rushed out all at once, along with every sensible thought in his head..

Bucky’s face. _Jesus._ Clint saw the little hitch of pain mingled with the pleasure of being stuffed full. Those teeth made an appearance again, catching that full, ripe lower lip again as Clint slowly thrust into him. The light in the room slowly diminished as they crept toward nightfall together, moving together in a heated dance. Bucky’s fingers curled into the pillow beneath his head. Bliss racked his features while Clint thrust into him in smooth, even shunts.

“You feel so good,” Clint rasped. “So fuckin’ hot, Barnes. Look at you.”

Bucky shook his head, a brief, urgent little motion, and he reached up to touch Clint’s mouth, silencing him.

“Okay,” Clint murmured, nipping at one of Bucky’s fingers. “S’fine. M’done.”

Barnes had a point. Clint had never won Barnes over with anything he’d said before that night. It was time to focus on Bucky and the perfect clench of his body, the way his core flexed around Clint, the snare of his legs wrapped around Clint’s ribs. Clint’s arms began to burn in the best way as he held himself over him and pumped, driving Bucky further into the mattress. By demanding Clint’s silence, Bucky freed him to breathe and feel, focusing on the demands of both of their bodies. Banishing words between them allowed him to kiss him feverishly. Bucky’s hands roamed over him, searching out and kneading tight, tense muscles. His blunt nails scratched down Clint’s back, down over the slope of his ass, rendering him incomprehensible.

Clint continued his driving pace until fatigue made him slow. He shifted himself down, propping himself on his elbows, and Bucky read his need on his face, in the sweat beading on his brow. Bucky’s legs tightened around him, halting him, and Clint gave him a brief look of confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Turn over.”

“Aw, Buck, no! It’s fine, I can-”

“Over, Clint.”

They rolled again, and Clint’s arguments died on his lips. This new vantage point gave him the sight of Bucky looming over him, every rippling muscle on display, with his rosy, turgid cock jutting between them, drooling a clear drop onto Clint’s belly. They were still connected, and Bucky supported himself, palms sliding over Clint’s ribs as he rolled his hips. Clint’s brain short-circuited.

“You win,” he muttered. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, and he resumed Clint’s pace within a few short moments. That dark cloud of hair tented his face in the dim room. Clint’s fingers dug into Bucky’s hips, and his own rose up to meet his every time they slanted down. Bucky rode him hard. Clint felt the hard cords of muscle in his thighs - _goddamn it, Barnes, you never skip leg day_ \- as he worked, and he reached for that beautiful cock, pumping it. Bucky groaned in approval. There was triumph in his blue-gray eyes. _I know what you need. And I’m going to give it to you._ That bastard was so smug, but this was the one time Clint didn’t give a damn or mind one bit.

Bucky made a little choked sound when Clint sped up his jerks, bouncing his hips in time with his hand, and Bucky came in Clint’s fist, spilling over it in thick, sticky streams. “That’s it, sweetheart, make a mess, I want you all over me,” Clint rasped. “That’s it. That’s it, baby.” Bucky’s body stiffened, shuddered, then stiffened again as Clint coaxed the rest of his climax from him. He was a gorgeous sight, all riled up and wrung out. Completely _wrecked_.

And he only paused for a second before he gave Clint a look - _that look_ and continued to move over Clint. Tireless. Determined. Clint cried out and tipped his head back into the pillow. “Oh, God… oh, God, Bucky, ohGOdohfuckBuckyBUCKYfuckmeohGod…”

All of Clint’s muscles clenched up tight as he released himself inside Bucky. He let out a choked cry, flying up from the pillows and clutching at Bucky, dragging him down against him until he rode it out. Clint’s hips seized and jerked, making him fill the condom in a thick, slippery rush. He convulsed against Bucky, arms snaring him against his chest. 

They lay together, spent and panting, sweat and semen cooling on their skin. Clint felt himself shrink and go limp, slipping free from Bucky’s body. Bucky whimpered in response, feeling bereft of that fullness and pressure. Clint absently wiped his sticky hand on the side of the mattress, picking a spot where neither of them would find it with their bare skin when they rolled over. 

“Okay,” Bucky panted. 

“Okay?” Clint’s voice was incredulous. How had Barnes found enough oxygen to manage to speak?

“I don’t _dislike_ you.”

Clint’s face scrunched up, and he gave Bucky’s ass a swat. “Prick…”

“Hey. This is progress.”

“Sure, Barnes. Progress. We’ll call it that, if you want.”

Bucky’s sigh mingled approval with exhaustion. Clint felt him nod against him. He combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair. It was nice to have the privilege after weeks of wondering how it felt.

“Are you gonna kick me out?”

“Depends. Are you gonna try to sneak out of here when I fall asleep?”

“Who says you’re gonna fall asleep first? I told you. As soon as I come, I’m out like a light.” Clint yawned to emphasize this. Then he remembered Lucky. “I wanna get home to my dog.”

“That’s fine.”

“It’s fine if I run off, huh?”

“It’s not running if you tell me you’re taking off.” Bucky’s voice was drowsy and thick. His leg was thrown over Clint’s thigh, and he was snuggled against his chest like he’d already claimed Clint as his pillow for the night. And Clint didn’t have to leave _immediately_.

Fuck, no. He needed to savor this. Just for a little while longer. 

Clint was no fan of reality or of six AM. Both of them would come creeping around the corner way too soon to bite him in the ass.


End file.
